


Afterward

by Deastar



Series: They Say Love Heals All Wounds [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: #mariowhy, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Established Relationship, M/M, Soul Bond, loose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:17:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the aftermath, in which loose ends are tied up, or not.</p><p>There are a couple background pairings, neither involving Sid or Geno - you can skip down to the end notes if you need to know what they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterward

1.

They had decided, in the end, to tell almost the whole truth.

The timing meant they couldn’t sell it as a planned bond, and trying to say that they’d been together before the crisis would have required them to invent—and more importantly, remember and consistently answer questions about—an entire backstory.

So they’d told the truth. They’d been attracted to each other before the crisis, but never acted on it. It was an emergency bond, and after they bonded, they’d confessed their feelings and begun a romantic relationship.

There was only one change.

“Guys ask me if I have list. I’m too embarrass to say – don’t want to tell who is on list.” Softly, Geno says, “Don’t want to tell I like men. But Sid know what to do. He tell everybody get out of room except him and Kadar and Flower and Kuni – guys I know, you know? Guys I’m feel comfortable with. So then I feel like I can show list.”

“And who was on the list?”

It’s normally unforgivably rude to ask—in other circumstances, this reporter could maybe even be fired for asking—but Geno brought it up… and they all already know what he’s going to say, anyway. Everybody knows how a love story goes.

“Sid,” Geno says.

Jen had said they should change it to keep Geno from looking irresponsible, but everyone in the room knew that was bullshit. It’s to keep Sid from looking like a predator.

It works, of course. Like Jen said, back at the beginning: _It’s a love story, baby, just say yes_.

 

2.

04-11-15 23:10:10      _crosby its lucic_

04-11-15 23:10:38      _im sorry about the hit_

04-11-15 23:11:41      _I didn’t think it thru_

04-11-15 23:12:49      _I was just frustrated and mad an I fucked up_

04-12-15 14:08:01      _and im sorry about all of malkin’s Russian shit_

04-12-15 14:08:48      _I didn’t realize_

04-12-15 14:11:23      _you know I don’t care about the gay thing_

04-12-15 20:02:37      _hope your heads ok_

 

04-12-15 23:46:52      _come on Crosby_

04-13-15 02:05:16      _crosby_

 

04-14-15 11:42:31      _I said I was fcking sorry_

04-14-15 15:10:35      _you don’t have to be a dick about it_

 

3.

Geno is crying in the living room, on the couch. His face is buried in his hands, and his body is bent in half like an old man’s.

This is because of Sid. Standing in the doorway, that’s all that Sid can think. If Geno hadn’t chosen Sid, and if Sid hadn’t let him, Geno wouldn’t be hurting and afraid.

 _This is wrong_ , Sid thinks desperately, heart-sick. _Geno shouldn’t have to hurt like this_. The words are on his tongue, ready – _We’ll take it back, we’ll say I tricked you, I’ll ask for a trade_ —

And then Geno looks up, and, seeing Sid, reaches for him.

The words on Sid’s tongue die unspoken. _What was I thinking_? Sid thinks, numb. _How could I possibly…_

He goes to Geno – climbs up on the couch and holds him, strokes his hair like he remembers his mother doing for him when he was little. “What do you need, G?” he murmurs, rocking Geno in his arms. “What can I do to make it stop?”

Geno draws in a shuddering breath and presses his face to Sid’s chest. Sid can feel tears soaking through his t-shirt. “Don’t go,” Geno pleads, voice small. “Don’t go, Sid. Need you.”

Geno shouldn’t ever have to sound that small. It makes Sid’s heart ache beneath his ribs. He would give Geno anything he asks for, to keep him from sounding that small.

“I won’t go,” Sid promises, quietly. “As long as you want me, I’ll stay with you, Geno. I swear it.”

 _I thought about leaving_ , he imagines saying, _but I was full of shit, I was wrong_ —but Geno doesn’t need to hear that, especially not now, when he’s so raw, still shuddering in Sid’s arms. He doesn’t need to hear that Sid lost hope, just for a moment, that he could ever make Geno happy again, under the weight of these painful days when Geno is so, so sad. “I’ll stay,” Sid repeats firmly, speaking to himself as much as to Geno. He won’t lose faith again.

“Unless I treat you bad,” Geno mumbles into Sid’s shirt.

“Unless you treat me badly,” agrees Sid, because that’s important, “which you won’t. We’ll be good to each other, Geno. We will.”

Geno starts crying again, but Sid’s arms are strong enough to hold his shaking.

When Geno is all out of tears, he still clings to Sid, and Sid clings back. With his forehead resting against Sid’s, Geno whispers, “Need you always, Sid. If I don’t have you, this… this is too much. Break me,” he admits, softly.

“Geno…” Sid says, helpless, because… how can that be true? He _wants_ it to be true, so badly, but he feels so useless in the face of Geno’s suffering.

But Geno just holds him tighter. “You my—my strong, Sid,” Geno tells him, before twisting his mouth with frustration. “Not ‘strong’ – same thing, different word—”

“Strength?” Sid asks, amazed. “I’m your strength?”

“Yes.” Geno’s voice is wrecked, but sure. “You my strength, Sid. Always.”

“God,” Sid whispers, half to himself, heart beating almost out of his chest. _That’s a lot to live up to_ , he thinks. But just hearing it makes Sid _feel_ stronger, surer. “You’re mine, too,” he tells Geno, because it’s true. “My strength.”

And for just a split-second—Sid’s heart leaps to see it—Geno smiles.

 

4.

Sid’s at the very back of the room – he knows it’s stupid, he knows there’s a good chance one of the reporters will recognize him, even with his hat pulled low, but he has to be here for this. Whatever happens, he can’t find out about it from someone’s sound bite or hot take.

“I’d, uh… I’d like to read from a prepared statement, first.” Sid’s father could not possibly look more uncomfortable. He’s actually gotten a lot better at talking to the press, over the years. But this is a special case. He clears his throat and begins reading from a piece of paper: “We have always known that Sidney was special. We have always known that he was going to make a different—sorry, a difference,” he corrects, stumbling over the words, “in the world of hockey. He has made a difference throughout his career with his skill and his leadership. This week, he made a difference with his courage.”

Sid can hear Jen in every line of this, and he tries not to be cynical about it – this is her job, and just like he wouldn’t want an amateur drawing up plays for him on the ice, she doesn’t want an amateur crafting a message on the organization’s behalf. But some corner of Sid can’t help wishing for these words to be his father’s in truth. He expects his father to continue talking about Sid’s career, now – a far more comfortable topic.

But he doesn’t.

“We are proud,” his father continues, “to be the parents of the first openly gay player in the NHL,” and Sid’s jaw drops.

“We are proud that Sidney will have the chance to inspire a generation of hockey fans, and maybe some people who never cared about hockey before. We love…” His father’s voice cracks, and he looks down suddenly. Sid’s mom lays a hand on her husband’s arm, murmurs something in his ear, but he shakes his head, and the microphones catch a snatch of him saying, “… to be me…” After a deep breath, Sid’s father says, “We love our gay son,” each word halting and shaky, “just the way he is. We wouldn’t change a thing about him.”

At that, his hands shake too badly for him to keep holding the paper with the statement on it. Sid’s mom gently takes it from him and starts saying nice things about Geno and asking the press to respect the family’s privacy.

Sid barely hears a word of it.

 _We love our gay son just the way he is_ , he hears on repeat in his head, looping again and again. _We love our gay son just the way he is. We wouldn’t change a thing about him._

Sid has to duck out of the room to get himself under control. In the hallway, he tells himself, savagely, _Don’t be stupid. You know Jen wrote that. You know what he really thinks._ But his father still _said_ those things. In front of a dozen cameras, into a dozen microphones, Sid’s father said that he wouldn’t change Sid even if he could. That he loves Sid the way he is. When someone googles his father’s name, that clip is going to come up. And he said it anyway. That has to mean something. Even if it gets Sid hurt in the end, he has to believe it means something.

When his parents are done taking questions, Sid is waiting for them outside the press room. His mom pulls him in for a hug, and Sid goes gladly – he drops his shields to let her read his gratitude, and his love. His father’s words may have been the ones that floored Sid, but he’s careful never to take his mom’s support for granted just because it’s freely given.

When she lets Sid go, Sid turns to his father. Hoarsely, he says, “You didn’t have to say all that stuff, Dad.”

His father ducks his head, avoiding Sid’s gaze. “Did it make you happy?”

“Yes. It did,” Sid whispers.

His father shrugs. “Then that’s what matters.”

With a bitterness that surprises him, Sid asks, “Did you mean any of it?”

Eyes closed and mouth tight, like he’s in pain, Sid’s father answers, “As much of it as I could.”

Sid’s not surprised—he’s _not_ —so he’s not sure how it can still hurt so damn much. Some of his reaction must show on his face, because his father reaches for him, before pulling up at the last minute, unsure.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” he tells Sid quietly. “I’m going to try, because I can see it’s important to you—” That _does_ surprise Sid, and he stares at his father, wondering what’s changed. “—but I just don’t know, Sidney.” Sid’s father looks tired, but he’s looking straight at Sid, helplessly sincere. “I don’t know, and I won’t pretend I do. But whether I’m comfortable with it or not, Sidney… I’ll fight for you. I know I’ve maybe… said some things I shouldn’t have said. But you can count on me to fight for you. I’ve always done that.” He lifts his chin, as if challenging Sid to disagree. But Sid can’t. Whatever else his father has done, Sid has to give him his due on this one.

“You have,” Sid acknowledges. “Thanks, Dad.”

“He’ll fight for you, too,” Sid’s father says, and it takes Sid a minute to realize that he’s talking about Geno. “So that’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sid says, allowing a small smile. “It’s good.”

 

5.

Sid’s phone buzzes – when he picks it up, he sees he has a message from Nate, who’s at Worlds right now. Sid was supposed to be there with him, but there’s no way he could leave Geno now. When he reads the message, his eyebrows shoot up.

_You’re about to get a text from Giroux – I gave him your number. DON’T DELETE IT. It’s important._

A minute goes by while Sid tries not to let curiosity eat him alive. Then, sure enough, a text arrives from an unknown number saying, _Crosby, it’s Giroux_

_Got your # from Mackinnon_

_I don’t like you_

_I’m never going to like you_

_But you are one brave son of a bitch_

_And I owe you one_

_For being the first I owe you_

_So you get this_

Giroux sends him a picture, but it’s slow to load on Sid’s crappy connection, and the texts just keep coming.

_So you and Malkin know_

_You’re not alone_

_Now I’m going to go back to hating your guts_

_For totally non gay related reasons_

_Like you breaking my wrists you fucking cheapshot_

With that, the flood of text messages comes to an end. With the newly unused bandwidth, Giroux’s photo finally loads. Sid’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

Geno comes running into the room, asking, “Sid? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… got a big surprise. Look at this.” He holds out the phone.

When Geno sees what’s on the screen, his eyes widen. “Look like… Giroux and Briere naked cuddle selfie.”

“They might not be naked,” Sid says weakly. “The sheet’s pulled up to their waists.” It does look pretty… post-coital, Sid has to admit. Giroux’s head is pillowed on Briere’s chest, and Briere’s hand is tangled in Giroux’s hair. They’re both sweaty, and smiling – looking only at each other, like the camera’s not even there.

“Who send?” asks Geno.

“Giroux. He wanted us to know we’re not alone.” And boy, is that weird to say.

Geno is silent for a minute, mulling that over. “Nice for him to do,” he says eventually. “You think they bond, like us? Or just relationship?”

Sid shrugs – it’s a pretty huge deal either way, but he’s guessing they’re bonded. He says so, and explains, “It would explain why all those trade rumors about Briere never went anywhere.”

Geno hums. “How we say thank you?” He grins, and Sid’s heart somersaults in his chest – Geno hasn’t had much to smile about lately. “We send naked cuddle picture back?”

“We are _not_ sending _anyone_ naked cuddle pictures of us,” says Sid, firmly. “I’ll just say thank you the boring, normal way.”

He starts typing as Geno tries to wheedle him into doing something totally ill-considered.

_I’m never going to like you either_

_But thank you_

_It meant a lot_

 

6.

Sid rushes into Mario’s office just as his office phone and his cell phone start to ring. “Don’t answer those,” Sid says, “and you have to see this.”

“See what?” Mario asks, looking worried.

Sid just shakes his head and says, “You can probably just go to Google and type in ‘Jaromir Jágr.’” He doesn’t feel equal to the task of explaining it himself, and this will be faster anyway.

Mario’s face goes white, but he does it – turns to his computer, opens a new browser tab, types Jágr’s name, clicks on the first video he sees. Jágr is being interviewed in a press scrum after a game, one of the Czech team’s games at Worlds. An English-language reporter asks him what he thinks about Sid and Geno, and Jágr shrugs. “Don’t see why it’s a big deal. Lots of bonded players have relationships like this. Crosby and Malkin, they’re not first. First to be public, but not first to have this kind of relationship.”

A different reporter asks, “So you know of other romantically involved couples in the NHL?” He’s obviously hoping Jágr will name names. By the way Mario flinches, he can tell what’s coming.

Jágr shrugs again. “I know some teammates who had this kind of relationship with a bondmate, yeah.” There’s only the slightest pause before he says, “I know _I_ had this kind of relationship with a bondmate.”

“ _You—_ ” the first reporter starts. Sid’s impressed all over again that it takes her no more than a word to realize how big this story really is. “When you say you’ve had a romantic relationship with a bondmate who was also a teammate, you mean that you were… romantically involved with _Mario Lemieux_?”

“Yeah,” Jágr says, and he makes it sound easy.

Sid says miserably, “I’m so sorry, Mario—”

None of this would be happening if it weren’t for Sid, and even though he knows it’s not his _fault_ , it still feels an awful lot like his responsibility.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mario replies. His voice sounds far away, distracted. “This has been a long time coming. A long time.”

“At the time, you both said the bond was broken right away,” a reporter onscreen states.

“We lied,” Jágr says simply. “We cared too much, wanted too much, to break it, so we stayed bonded.”

“Are you still bonded to Lemieux?”

“No.” Jágr still sounds casual; in front of Sid, Mario’s hands are clenched so tightly on the arms of his chair that they’re white from fingertip to wrist. “No, bond broke when I played in KHL.”

“And are you still involved? Romantically?”

“No,” Jágr says again. He laughs without humor. “That part broke a long time before KHL.”

“Why did you—”

“Not gonna answer that,” Jágr says, steely.

The same reporter follows up, “Did you ask Mario Lemieux’s permission to disclose this information? Does he know that you were planning to make your past relationship public?”

Jágr’s lip curls. “I don’t have to ask Mario’s permission for telling the truth about my own life. And there was no ‘planning’ – I didn’t plan to say this, it just came up, with questions you asked me.”

That has got to be a bold-faced lie—Sid simply cannot believe that any player, let alone one as high-profile as Jágr, would out himself and one of hockey’s all-time biggest stars without thinking about it ahead of time—but there’s nothing any of the press can do to call him on it.

Another quick thinker says, “I notice that you didn’t say exactly whether you had talked with Lemieux about disclosing your relationship. The attention on Crosby and Malkin has been intense, and this news will attract a lot of attention, too. Did Mario Lemieux ask you to come out to try and deflect media scrutiny from Sidney Crosby, his protégé?”

This is the point where Sid’s own breath catches – where he can’t help clenching his hands tightly around the points of his elbows. He keeps his eyes fixed on the screen.

Jágr outright sneers at this question, and his eyes are hard and cold. “Mario knows better than to ask me that.” He turns to someone off screen and says, “No more questions,” and a few seconds later, the video cuts out.

After a moment of silence, Sid asks, “ _Did_ you ask him?” He holds his breath for the answer, not sure he wants to know.

“No,” Mario says, exhausted. “No, he’s right. I wouldn’t have dared.”

“Why?” It’s clear that something went sour in the relationship between Mario and Jágr, but Sid’s not sure where or what.

Mario looks at the ground – the lines in his face stand out, making him look older. “You know I retired, before he was traded.” Jágr has been traded many times, by now, but there’s only one trade Mario could be talking about. “But it didn’t last. When they traded him, I was playing again. You, of all people, should know what that means.”

Sid shakes his head. “It means he had to want to be traded, because they couldn’t trade one of you away without—”

“He wanted to stay,” Mario says, and Sid’s voice dies in his throat. “Or at least, part of him did. And I could have kept him here.” He closes his eyes. “He begged me to go public with the bond. Not even with our relationship—that was over by then, anyway. Just with the bond. So they couldn’t trade him. And I—I refused.”

Sid knows he must be gaping like a fish – but he dares anyone to get a revelation like that and accept it without a blink.

“He begged me to say something, and I refused,” Mario repeats. “For _me_ to ask _him_ to go public now, to help someone that _I_ love?” Mario shakes his head. “It would have been unforgivable.”

Sid tries to absorb that. He wants to protest, to defend Mario… but even with what little he now knows about the story, “unforgivable” sounds about right, yes.

“He did it for you, you know,” Mario says softly. “Because you, finally, got it right. Because you did for Geno what I couldn’t do for him.”

“You think?” Sid asks. He’s only had a little longer to think this over than Mario has, and obviously he doesn’t know Jágr as well as Mario does, but. “I thought he did it for you.” Sid debates leaving it there, but decides it’s worth it to go on. “Someone you love, right?” He blushes when he says it, but he doesn’t duck his head or turn away. The one thing this shitpile has been good for is showing him exactly who is solidly in his corner, and who isn’t. And he’s sure of Mario. “He knew you couldn’t ask. So… he didn’t wait for you to ask.” Sid shrugs. “Just what I thought. Anyway. I thought you should see that. I’ll let you have some privacy.”

He walks out of Mario’s office and shuts the door behind him.

 

7.

Sid knocks on Dr. Shridhar’s open door.

She looks up and smiles, saying, “Hey, Sidney. Come in! What can I do for you?”

Sid closes the office door behind himself, then sits down. “I think I should talk to somebody about the bond crisis. A professional.” He wasn’t prepared for how much lighter it would make him feel just to get the words out.

“I think that’s a really good idea.” The doctor leans back in her chair a little. “Did you want to talk to me? Or are you looking for a referral?”

It hadn’t really occurred to Sid that he could just talk to Dr. Shridhar about this – she probably knows a ton about bond crises. But he wants to go to somebody outside the organization, he’s pretty sure. “A referral,” he says.

It occurs to him after he says it that Dr. Shridhar might take that personally, or think that it reflect some problem Sid has with her, which isn’t true.

But the doctor doesn’t look bothered – she just nods as if that’s what she was expecting him to say. “Did you have any specific parameters? Areas of specialization, background…”

This is the problem – the thing he has to brace himself for. Sid shoves down the part of himself that still thinks he has no right to be hurt by anything that happened during the bond crisis, that _Geno_ was the victim, and Sid a bystander at best and a perpetrator at worst. It’s hard… but part of the point of talking to a professional about this stuff is hopefully to make that easier.

“I think I need to talk to somebody who has experience working with… with sexual trauma,” he gets out, voice only a little rough. “And I—not a straight man. Maybe that’s unfair, but I—”

“It doesn’t matter what’s fair. What matters is that you feel comfortable. If you don’t, the whole thing will be futile,” Dr. Shridhar says matter-of-factly. She rummages around in her desk and comes up with a business card, flipping it over to the blank side. “I’ll give you a couple of names that come to me right off the top of my head,” she says, scrawling on the back of the card. “The first one is a bisexual man at CMU. He’s a very strong reader, somewhere between me and Flower in terms of strength. And the second is a woman who’s in private practice. She’s a lesbian, and she’s also read-blind, which is pretty rare in her profession, although it’s more common in counselors who specialize in sexual trauma.”

“Why do I need to know their reading ability?” Sid asks, accepting the card.

Dr. Shridhar smiles wryly. “One of the things about being an extremely strong reader – when someone is uncomfortable around extremely strong readers, you kind of can’t help knowing it.”

“I’m sorry—”

She waves off his apology. “I know it’s not personal. Let me know if you strike out with those two, or if you want more options for whatever reason.”

“Thank you.” Sid debates with himself all the way home, but in the end, the choice is easy. He types the second number into his phone and hits the call button.

“Hello? Yes. I’d like to set up an appointment.”

 

8.

Sid is just on the edge of sleep when he feels Geno go rigid in his arms.

“G’no?” he asks, blurry.

“Sid.” Geno sounds… afraid. “Sid, you tell me you think you never have boyfriend – never have bondmate.”

Sid’s all the way awake now. “Yeah,” he says cautiously. “I—that’s what I thought. But not anymore, obviously.”

“But when you think this, you still think… adopt, yes? Still be papa, just no other papa, yes? Sid?” Geno’s voice cracks with a desperation Sid doesn’t understand. His eyes are wide in the thin haze of light coming through the curtains.

“No,” Sid replies, and Geno makes a noise like he’s had the breath driven out of him. “I couldn’t—it would raise questions. You know. People would wonder—and I couldn’t take care of a kid alone while I was playing, and after, I’d be too old to start raising a kid…” These are arguments Sid recited to himself many times, heartsore, when he was younger, until they became ingrained – trying to convince himself that his hockey camp and the Little Penguins would be enough.

Geno whispers, brokenly, “You think… never be papa? Never little Crosbys?” He looks unbearably sad.

Sid would do almost anything to take that look off of his face, but he can’t see the point in lying now. “No,” he agrees, feeling the stretch of a scar grown over an old and deep hurt. “I didn’t think I’d ever have kids.”

“ _No_ ,” Geno says urgently, gripping Sid’s shoulders. His eyes are wild and wounded. “No, Sid. _No_.”

Sid stares back, lost. “Geno…”

“Too sad, Sid.” Geno shakes his head back and forth, burying his chin in his chest. “Too sad to think. Make me—” Geno makes a hurt, animal sound and pulls a hand off of Sid’s shoulders to press a fist into his own ribs. “No, Sid,” he whispers.

“I don’t think that anymore,” Sid tries, then blushes at his own presumption. “I mean, I guess I should have asked whether you want kids with me—”

“Want, of course I want, I want most, _Sid—_ ” Geno breaks off and pulls Sid close fiercely. After a minute of holding Sid tight, Geno says into Sid’s hair, “Have to promise, Sid.”

“Promise what?”

“Promise if we break up, you don’t go back to this think,” Geno insists. He’s shaking in Sid’s arms. “Promise you still be papa. Too sad to think you not.”

“We’re not going to break up,” Sid attempts, which earns him a tighter hug, but Geno still demands, “Promise, Sid.”

“I promise,” Sid whispers. It bothers the superstitious part of him to make any promises that would start with the two of them falling apart. But he can tell that Geno won’t have any peace until Sid says this. “I promise I won’t give up on having kids. No matter what.”

He feels the tension leave Geno’s body in a rush. “Okay, Sid,” breathes Geno. “Okay. Good. Is good.”

They lie together quietly for a little while, drawing strength from the comfort of the bond and their own closeness. Eventually, Sid asks, “So… kids?” a little nervous even though Geno basically already said he wants that with Sid.

“ _Yes_ ,” Geno says emphatically. “Yes, kids. Maybe not yet, I think—but not too long. Maybe we have year, maybe two, for just be couple, for just be you and me. But then… babies. Yes. Of course babies. I—always I know, you supposed to have babies. You need. Not right you not have babies.”

Sid feels a little like laughing, but it’s clear Geno is sincere. “Oh, yeah?”

Geno nods, rubbing his nose against Sid’s forehead. “When I think of you after hockey, think about future, always I imagine Sid with baby in arms, or Sid take kid to school, hug goodbye, read book for bedtime. Always I see this, when I imagine. Yes?”

For ten years, Sid has been scrubbing fantasies like that out of his head, forcibly replacing them with dreams of teaching other people’s children, being the favorite uncle instead of the devoted father. It touches him more than he can say to know that Geno has been keeping those fantasies for him, holding them for the day when Sid was ready to hope for them again. “Yes,” he says, hearing the roughness in his own voice. “Yes. I want that so much. And I want it with you.”

“We have,” Geno says. Now that they’re on the same page, he seems to be slipping toward sleep again, yawning a little. “Have all babies you want. Ten babies.”

Sid laughs. “I don’t actually want ten babies. I don’t know why people think that.”

Geno shrugs, and cuddles Sid closer. “Ten babies, one baby, five babies. All good.”

“I was thinking maybe… two or three,” Sid confesses, because… he’d tried. God, he’d tried to stop hoping, stop wanting. But he couldn’t wipe out this want any more than he could stop wanting Geno. It kept growing back, springing up no matter how many times he cut it down.

“Top line if three,” Geno mumbles. “D-pair if two.”

“Sure, Geno.” Sid smiles. “For sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Background Briere/Giroux and background past Mario/Jagr.


End file.
